Too slow. "Possibly. Probably."
He inched back to his door - ah, had it missed him? He'd certainly missed it - to rest his back comfortably, every last bone sinking in just right. Mmmmmmm. "If you're looking to convert me to your department, I'm afraid you're wasting your time."
Soft laughter. He raised his right hand at chest level, spreading the fingers as far as they'd go, showing first the back of it, then the palm. "Tight knuckles, short fingers. No musical ear. Can't hold a tune."
Well, that was an exaggeration. He liked to think he could hold his head high among a class of third graders, when it came to the exhaustive performance of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.
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